A peep into Newgate

20

J t lLT V ? 1 ! ? l,t !>»vc committed is a serious We, the

majesty of the law has been outraged, by the theft of apples, and if it were to

Ce’lSnee^ 'T'^' ^ ^' 5se in tMs ^PP7 land, and therefore,

1 1 : entenccof the comt is that you have a dozen strokes with the birch rod
and six months imprisonment.” “ Oh my,” said the culprit

had ^ be f 11 in -i he Yi me ,W. ' “ I had behaved so well that day,and

t uiaiks of considerable education, and force of character, but the off-

takeiV ilS™ 1 “ 7 S a s ? nons °! K> - Supposing some hot headed man had
taken my words seriously, and put them into execution, I should have been

bronmmS 11 Hl° f 1111 | l 5 der *”, I!e . hac] hesitated as to what sentence he should
t0 F enal ' servitvide > bnt lll! would not, but under
'labour U , should P* ss tlll “ severe sentence of eighteen months' hard

ex P°, c , t S e ^” said a newspaper reporter, when I
withe reply U ^ m ° nths - “ 1 thought you would have got thice,’

the coll Wlt A 1 a sun,p horn the court, and was hurtied down the stains to
i ^ m A 7 mai i 7 ved her handkerchief from the gallery, a man

t,lal ™ «* W* «?

—NOTICE--

Owing to pressure on our space, reports of Walsall Amnesty
Meeting will appear m next issue.

In next Number of the “ Commonweal,” will appear

STANLEY ^ RHODES,

“PILLAGE AND MURDER IN AFRICA,”

-—

WILL APPEAR SHORTLY

“THE SWEATING DENS or SHEFFIELD"

DISEASE ; jf DEATH
AMOMG THE GRINDERS.

HORRIBLE REVELATIONS!

Printed and Published by D. J. Nigoll, 82, Randall Street, Sheffield.

Prosecuted by Government.

THE

COMMONWEAL

Vol. 1. No. I.

MAY 6th, 1892.

One Penny.

A PEEP INTO NEWGATE.

MOWBRAY & NIGOLL,

At the OL.D BAXLBT.

Awful Police Perjury.

THE HORRORS OF PRISON LIFE,

ONE PENNY

TO OUR READERS.

‘ i tie Anarchist’ has lived two years, through many struggles and diffi-
'culties, and we now m tend to revive the past:glories of the oldest revolutionary
, paper nv Eb^lai id. '

. •* The Commonweal,” founded by William Morris, in January, 1886, and

which'died in September, 1892, was never a purely .Anarchist paper* it was the
orgAn of mta national Revolutionary Socialism; and- it united under its flaw
not only Anarchists, but also those lievolutionary Socialists who, having dis¬
covered the’ fraud of politics, declided‘td be humbugged any longer, and declared
the emancipation of the people could only be obtained by the people them¬
selves, by their own direct revolutionary action; Our “Commonweal” will take
the same course ; we welcome all, whatever their views may be as to majority
rule, etc. So long as.they refuse to vote or be voted for, and will unite with ns
for the Complete alvolition-of the 'present systenf of society. All men who detest
the * fate, who see that lib good can cbmefrom Parliamentary action are really
Anarcnists, no matter wliat they may call themselves. Names* are of no conse-
quence, it is ideas that are the important point. Throughout all Socialist par¬
ties there are many men who have bad enough of politics and politicians, and it
is these .that may be won to the only cause with fighting for the cause of inter¬
national Revolutionary Socialism.

A word as to methods ; How, is the free community, owning land, capital
and the nmans of production, to be won / Not of necessity by bloodshed or
violence. Passive resistance, which in England and Ireland has done so much,
W *1° more. An Anti-Rent Campaign in London slums would do more

than any amount of parliamentary and municipal elections to win men to
{socialism, . A General Strike,, or a Great Lock-Cut, such as is how impending
in the colliery districts, will win thousands of converts to the new ideas, if used
by all Socialist bodies for propoganda,

VVe desire to be on peaceable terms with all men. We shall not abuse
people because they believe in State or Parliament;,'but try to win them to a
more excellent way by reasonable discussion -and argument.

The “ Commonweal ” will, in each number, contain a complete pamphlet-
dealing not only with historic revolts .of tire workers, but also witli the suffering
and sweating, so common among the people to day. There will also be articles
by one best known Continental and English Anarchists and Socialists on educa¬
tional subjects. The “ Commonweal ” will be a labour paper, not written in an
academic style for,students, but explaining in a plain and simple way for 'work¬
ing people, the truths of Anarchist and Revolutionary Socialism.

In taking the name of a paper, crushed out of existence by police perse¬
cution, we avow our intention of continuing the fight against' tyranny and
monopoly witli iiipffe vigbur and determination than ever.

Vol. 1-No. 1. MAY, 1896. One Penny.

A PEEP INTO NEW0A1E.

CHAPTER IV.

A BRUTAL MAGISTRATE.

“The Raid on the Commonweal ’’—Medicine for Melville - Anderson’s
Orders—Mowbray’s Arrest—The Dead Wife—What are these
children to do?—Magistrate Vaughan —“ In the Custody of a Police¬
man ’’ Public Indignation—Police Perjury—Committed for Trial.

It was at half-past three, on Tuesday, April 19th, that the office, of the
Commonweal was raided by Melville and his gang. They completely ransacked
the place, carrying off type, papers, and leaflets. They were assidious in their
inquiries, as to a certain book on explosives, which Coition had been getting out
but which had never been printed. If they could only have found a few copies
what valuable evidence it would have been. Tom Cantwell told them in jest,
“ We have been expecting you for some time, and do you think we should be
fools, as to keep anything here likely to get men into trouble.”

Melville is a judge of explosives ; he got hold of a medicine bottle, it was
nearly empty, but there was a little transparent fluid at the bottom. There
was no label on the bottle, and it might be nitric acid. As Tom acknowledged
it was his property, he had been taking medicine, they had serious thoughts of
him along with the type. But after careful examination of the fluid, they
thought it best to leave him alone. Finally they departed with a threat, “That
they would take the whole bloody lot next time.”

Our friends had great difficulty in getting the type back. Says the Com¬
monweal of June 25th, 1892, “ We have got our type back at last, but not witli-
“ out considerable trouble, but if the authorities have caused loss of time, to some
4 ‘ of our comrades, we have the satisfaction of knowing that we worried them.

“ After repeated applications at Scotland Yard and Bow Street, Sweeny (the per-
“ J lirer in Nicoll’s case) called at our office, last Saturday, and informed us that

" we were to call at Scotland Yard on Monday, at twelve o’clock. We were hum¬
bugged for abo,ut six hours, \Vbiie the, .circumloeutionary arrangements were
“ P ufc in motion, and it was finally delivered to Cantwell and Parker, the former
as Trustee, and the latter as the Secretary of the London Socialist League.
“ W}ien our Comrades reached the'room in which the type was locked up. the,/
u had to break it up, to ‘pye it ,’\as printers call it, for Anderson, the As-
“ distant CorpMssimer, had given orders to that effect, to prevent its being
“ reprinted.. Now there was not the least excuse for this wanton piece of de¬
struction,as the “ incriminating ’apticle for which Nicoll was prosecuted, was not
“ in the number seized on April 19th, nor was there anything strong on the nine
galleys of matter that was also taken. The type was taken away in bank
“ i?ags, provided by the police. However, they still retained the stereos of the
Caimagnolc, and a quantity of Malatesta’s dialogue, which Anderson considers
l£ seditious. Our friends of the Freedom Group had better look out for a pros-
edition. ” Why was Anderson, Melville’s chief, so anxious to prevent the
“ ’due galleys of type ’’from being'" reprinted ” ? There was “ nothing strong ”
there, exceptThe Trntti about the Walsall Plot.” But it is well to suppress
awkward revelations- It was done effectually.

The arrest of Mowbray was so cruel, that it even unmanned the detec¬
tives, Littlechild and McIntyre, who executed it., : Melville, like Chevy Sly me,
was round the corner while the dirty work was done. Mowbray’s wife had only died
four hours before, and ho was sitting down to a scanty meal with his little chil¬
dren, when the detectives entered and seized him. “ This is a bad job,” said
Mowbray, “ my wife is just dead, and what are these children to do ? ” and he
burst into tears. '

It was vain for him to declare that he did not agree with the article. ,
That he had never seen it till the Commonweal was published, and that he had
then severed all connection with the paper. All these statements were quite
true, but it made no difference. The law must be obeyed. He was dragged
away from his desolate homeland his little ones were left without father or mother.
Littlechild and McIntyre had done some unpleasant work in their time, but this
was a little too much even for them.

I am not fond of detectives, but I must admit that both showed consider¬
able sympathy in giving their evidence at the hearing at Bow Street on Wednes¬
day. I am not altogether sure that McIntyre was not sacked from the force for
being too " sympathetic.” Detectives have no right to sympathise with
Anarchists. They must have hearts of stone and be as cruel as the grave.

But if Detectives McIntyre and Littlechild were not up to their work,,
there was a gentleman'on the magisterial bench who could arise to the height
of the occasion.

%

Mi. Vaughan, after the detectives had given their evidence, was asked hv
Mowbray if he would allow him out on bail to bury his dead wife. Before
Vaughan' could reply I interposed. I said, “ Mowbray has had nothing to do
with the writing of the article, or its publication; I wrote the article, and pub¬
lished it, and I alone am responsible.” “ Who is the publisher of the paper? ”
said Vaughan to Gliffe, the Solicitor to the Treasury. “Mowbray,” said Oliffe.
“Very well,” said Vaughan, and turning to Mowbray he added, “ You may
attend your wife’s funeral in the custody of a policeman!” A more cruel and
brutal sentence has never been heard from the magisterial bench. What of the
law and the civilization, that breeds such monsters as these?, ,

There was a murmur of indignation in the. Court, and as we left the dock,
there were loud cries of “ cheer up.” We were remanded for a week, all bail re¬
fused, and were soon on our way, in the prison van, to Holloway.

But Vaughan’s brutality was too much even'for the capitalistic press.
There was a general outburst of popular indignation. Mrs. Besant telegraphed
to Mowbray that she would take care of the children, and the storm grew so
strong that Vaughan was forced to let Mowbray out on bail. On Saturday,
April 23rd, the day the funeral took place, the Commercial Road was thronged
by sympathetic working people, and the sad procession passed on its way to
Manor Park Cemetery, amid the respectful silence of the masses. It was an
excellent object lesson to the people, of the iniquity and cruelty of the officials of
the law. ,

It is not that men like Vaughan and Melville are naturally hard hearted
scoundrels. It is their occupation that has made them so. The law creates
these monsters, its faithful servants. A man cannot always be engaged jn hunt¬
ing do.wh people like wild beasts, or in passing savage sentences upon starving
wretches without becoming brutalized. It is only natural. The occupation makes
the man.

We were soon to hear another illustration of the virtues of the gentlemen
who look after our morals. At the second, hearing of pur case, on Wednesday,
April 27th, the Counsel for the Crown, Mr. Avory, stated that it would be pro¬
ved, by two “unimpeachable witnesses,” that 1 had repeated the “ incitement to
murder”,in Hyde Park. Whereupon detectives Sweeny and Powell stepped
into the box and delivered “ an ’orrible tale.” They were in Hyde Park at the
demonstration, on Sunday, April 10th, when they heard me make the following
statement: “ Four men are responsible for the conviction of theWalsall Comrades,
“ Butcher Hawkins, Melville, Matthews, and Coulon. Within a fortnight two
“ of them must dip. What must our comrades feel when they meet Butcher
“ Hawkins, or Hangman Hawkins as he is better known, in the street.” Now

6

there can be no question that this is an “ incitement to murder,’' There is
some doubt about the Commonweal article, but none about this. But there was
only one objection to its being received as evidence. It was absolutely false
from beginning to enf. I had never incited to murder in Hyde Park. I had never
used the words which were sworn to by these veracious officers. What indu¬
ced these men to commit deliberate perjury ? The case was not too strong against
me. It was necessary to .strengthen it. You can get a long term of penal
servitude for incitement to murder. It would have suited Melville admirably to
havehadme sent away for five or ten years. I should have told no more “ lies” about
him. Melville knew, all Scotland Yard knew, that this evidence was absolutely
false They must have known, for our meeting swarmed with detectives. But
you see when the honour of one of their superiors is at stake, there is nothing
his surbordinates will not do to oblige him. and what is a little perjury, more
or less. It is done every day in the force in trifling matters, and why should it
hot be done when an enemy of law and order is concerned. The police must
uphold at all hazards the dignity of law. And the lies of advocates, lawyers,
legislators, and policemen, are part of its administration. If Jesus Christ stood
in the dock to day, there would be no lack of false witnesses to testify against
him. In Jerusalem the^ had to get them from the vilest of the people. We
have plenty in the police force here. This is one of the blessings of civilization,
“ Ah, sir, old Ananias is’nt in it with a policeman ” tiid a burly bus driver to me
one day, but magistrates always believe them In spite of my indignant pro¬
tests, Vaughan committed me for trial at the Old Bailey, not only for the Com¬
monweal article, but for the speech in Hyde Park.

When I arrived at my cell in Holloway, my jailor asked me, “ How I had
got on.” Committed to the Central Criminal Court,” I replied. “ Ah, next
Monday,” he said, “ Well you won’t have long to wait.”

CHAPTER V.

POVERTY AND CRIME.

a

Innocent before caw - A Light Supper—Prison Literature Shakespeare
—Chapel—Brutality of Warders—Pious Prisoners—The Wild
Beasts Cage—Poverty and Depair—The Prey of the Police—The
Man from Wandsworth. ————

Life in jail for a prisoner awaiting trial is as brutal as the life of the con¬
victed prisoner. If you have money and will spend it, you may be fairly com¬
fortable. But the prisoner without means is not so fortunate. He might as
well be convicted, the routine is just the same.

You rise at six, roll up your beddina, and clean up your cell, breakfast
at eight. Brown bread and skilly ; you are provided with less foot! than a pris¬
oner serving the first four months of a long sentence, and that is a starvation
diet. After breakfast you go to chapel, then to exercise in the prison yard. If
your friends call, you may receive a visit. Dinner at twelve, and then you have
the whole afternoon for meditation, till after a light supper of six ounces of
bread and a pint of skilly, you go to bed at eight p.m.

But there is no oakum, ail old hand sometimes wishes there was, it would
be more amusing. “ Would you rather be serving your sentence, or waiting for
“ it in jail 1 ” I asked a prisoner once. “ 1 would rather he doing time,”,he
replied. “ You know what you’ve got, and there is work to do. Time passes
“quickly. There aint that suspense.” Suspense is the torture of the uncon¬
victed prisoner, and all will admit that it is not the sentence, but waiting for
the sentence, that is the worst. The ten days I passed in Holloway before my
removal to Newgate for my trial, seemed like a century.

There is so little to vary the monotony. The criminal is rarely a man
who reads, but if he was fond of reading, he would not find much-to amuse him
in the prison library. Religions tracts; elementary books on science, adapted
to the comprhejision of children ; boys books of adventure, with ■ moral and
religious reflections, by the late Mr Ballantine ; the story of the good little boy
who died early. What a blessing to his parents. And all the nauseous trash
that does duty as religious literature. This stuff is calculated to bring on in¬
cipient brain softening, and certainly does not lighten the monotonous torture
of solitary confinement.

When in prison I quite startled the warder who acted as librarian, by
asking for « Shakespeare.” “ Shakespeare ! ” he said, “ Have you ever been
in jail before ?I remarked, with humility, that “ l had not.”

“ Ah,” he said, with an air of pity for my inexperience, “ if you you had,
you would know that we,don’t keep books like that here,” He gave me the
“ Child’s Guide to Heaven,” instead.

But prison life is not without its pleasures. Firstly, there is “Chapel.”
Seated in your cell, you hear a prodigioue banging of doors, mingled with hoarse
cries of “Chapel! Chapel! ” the door is flung open, and you march out. If
you are new to prison, you put your hat on, if you do it will be taken from your
head and flung on the floor, and a rush of warders will drive you to Divine Ser¬
vice like a herd of frightened cattle.

A certain amount of ruffianism is needed for beginners in crime. The
jailor who usually presides at the reception room at Holloway is an adept at

8

this. He will bully you like a clog or a pick-pocket, although in the eyes of the
law you are quite innocent, yet it is well to give you a taste of what you may
expect later.

\v hen Mowbray and I first arrived at Holloway, this estimable function¬
ary presided over the ceremony of our incarceration. He asked our names and
tiges. “ What religion ? ” “None.” “ What are' yon then ?” with a savage
growl, and a look, meaning “ You dogs.” * Anarchists? ” “ Yes.” A grunt of
dissatisfaction, meaning “ You ought to be hung.” The jailers cannot under¬
stand a prisoner vvithout a religion. Most criminals belong to the Church of
England. A Dissenter is rare, but Atheists are very scarce. All the people
who commit theft, robbery, rape, and murder, belong to the Established Church,
but them the greater the Saint the greater the sinner.

The piety of the prisoners in Chapel is quite delightful. They evidently
krfow their prayer book by heart, and the earnest way'll which they gave the re¬
sponses would delight a bishop. Occasionally, amid the din of voices, you would
hear fragments of conversation which were not pious. “ Say Bill, what are you
lagged for ? Bmglary. a 0 Lord, we have erred and strayed from Thy
wavs like lost mutton.” ...

„ , v ... What have you been doing to your hands, Bill? What, been at work ?”

0 Christ, save us ! Lord, have mercy -upon us.”

“Well, they asked rue, and I thought I could oblige them. And the Catholic
faith is this, “ Why, you bloody fool, you don’t catch me working unless I am
forced, to/ 7 Then we sting a hymn—

This is the place, 0 Lord, wherin Thy honour dwells,
the joy of Thine abode, all earthly joys excells.

This is Thine house of prayer, wherein Thy servants meet,

And Thou, 0 Lord, art there, Thy chosen flock to greet.

. Th ° Lorcljosen flock are sometimes a peculiar people. Though most of
the thieves assembled there were quite as honest as the fashionable congregations
in M ost End churches. But great thieves ride in their carriages, while small
thieves go to jail. It is the way of the world.

Not only do we enjay the consolations of religion in prison, but we are
also allowed the inestimable privilege of seeing our friends.

. At riollowa y, a batch of prisoners are marched down in single file to a
senes of little boxes like those at pawnbrokers. You enter a box, the door is
dosed behind you, in front, above what would be the counter at pawnbrokers
is a lattice work of iron bars, on the other side are some more bars through
which you see the face of a friend. Between you is a corridor where a warder

9

walks up and down. You exchange greetings through the bars of this wild beast
cage, when immediately there arises on every side of you an inarticulate din.
The prisoners are all talking to their friends at once, and as there is some dis¬
tance between them, it is necessary to talk very loud. But the louder you talk
thp louder are your neighbours, till at last their voices rise into shrieks, and yoa
must shout your loudest to be heard. It is a pleasure for the wife or relations
of an inudeent prisoner to visit him in prison. Many prisoners ask their wives
not to come, these visits are cruel, so agonising. To see the face of one you
love behind iron bars and find it almost impossible for your voice to reach him,
it is worse than waiting in silence for the verdict. But what of ehe other pris¬
oners? When you are in prison awaiting trial, you have a better opportunity
of forming an opinion as .to-their social condition than when they have assu-
ed the garb of a convicted criminal. In prison dress all men are equal. It is
evident what has brought them to jail -Poverty ! There is scarcely one who is
decently clothed, if they are not actually in rags, they have that air of shabby
gentility, that speaks more eloquently of a sharp struggle against the demon of
hunger. A well dressed man is raw, and if you see one, he belongs as a rule not
to the criminal class. He is a clerk, or sonffi solicitor, who has committed a
breach of trust, or a swindling capitalist or financier. I remember the hum of.
admiration which arose amid a crowd of hungry looking criminals as a gold
watch was handed to a stout weil dressed individual who was leaving Holloway
to take his trial. This wealth aroused envy.

It is at exercise that you s^g your fellow prisoners, and you can also contem¬
plate the pleasant countenances of all the detectives and warders in London.
Two or three times a week these gentlemen come round to survey their natural
prey for the purpose of identification.' The prisoners are formed in a long line
while the officials march round and inspect them, note hook in hand.

This is an excellent device for enabling detectives to know criminals, but it
also enables the criminals to identify detectives, which is a useful accomplish¬
ment. .

Personal compliments pass on these occasions. For instance, a warder from
Wandsworth, a small, sharp, red nosed, cold blooded individual, made himself
very prominent in hooking them down. This roused the ire of a man, who had
been booked, and he exclaimed in great wrath “ Why you bloody little —
“ from Wandsworth, Why don’t yer prick that nose of yours and let some of

the--. villany out?” There was a general laugh, hut from the expression on

the face of that little warder. I should not care to be that unfortunate criminal
if he ever came under his jurisdiction.

Two prisoners are talking. “ What, Jim, here again ?” Yes, “ What am I

10

to do ?” “ Why don’t you try the Army, it is better than this ? ” Her Majesty’s
Army, and Her Majesty’s Jails, are our chief institutions for the relief of
poverty. It is sad, but it is true, no man will enter either till driven frantic by
hunger.

CHAPTER VI.

THE ROAD TO NEWGATE.

The Black Maria—Mrs. Osborne— Revolutionary Sentiments—Tory
Jailbirds—The Philosophy op Crime—West End Riots—Three
Gold Watches—Young Pickpockets—The Crimes op Civilization.

I soon found that my jailor had spoken the truth. I had not long to
wait. I was committed for trial on Wednesday afternoon, and I left Holloway
m the police van about the same time on Friday, en ronte for Newgate.

A ride in a prison van is not a pleasant experience, but occasionally one

hears some very amusing scraps of conversation.

I ll ere is a specimen. One female prisoner to another, “ I don’t call it
fair, do you, to treat them better than us ? ” She was referring to wealthy pris¬
oners. “ Now there is that Mrs. Osborne, I was in the Infirmary with her, and
“ slje har ’ chicken broth, I know that, because she did not eat it all, and I took
“ some of ifc - 1 dcn’t cab that fair, do you ? They don’t give us chicken broth.
“ We ought to be served all alike.”

Mrs. Osborne, it will be remembered, was the lady who stole her friends
jewellery. Rut where did this female prisoner get these revolutionary senti-
ments ; It was certainly not from the literature supplied in the prison. Neith-
/ er Soci abst nor Radical newspapers are allowed to creep in. There is a list of

l papers hung up at Holloway, which prisoners are allowed to read. Needless to

say “ Reynolds ” is not among them. They don’t admit the “ Star,” nor anything
that may breath of sedition. The most advanced papers you can get in prison
5 are “Lloyds ” or the “ Daily Chronicle.” It is not surprising that most jail¬

birds are Tories, when they have any political opinions at all. They are as a
; rule, profoundly convinced of the necessity of keeping up the present system.

For they say, “ If there were no rich people to rob, what would become of us?”
They are devotees of the turf and the tavern, and their political experiences
are confined to times when they are hired by wealthy politicians to break up ad¬
vanced political meetings. Among these, there are doubtless some men who are
conscious rebels against our existing society, but they are not numerous.

I have only hoard of one prisoner who expressed a fervent admiration
% for Socialism.

11

A young Socialist was in prison, soon after the unemployed riots of ’86,
when the West End of London was sacked. One day be was alone in his cell,
when a prisoner who was sweeping in the eorridor of the prison, crept to the
spy hole in the doc>r, and whispered through it, “ Socialist,” « Yes,” said the
prisoner. “ Keep it up old man, I am with you. My heart’s in it. Why at
South Audley Street, last February, I got three: gold watches and a diamond pin.
My heart’s in it old boy, my heart is in it.”

If Socialism only meant gratuitous distribution of gold watches at fre¬
quent intervals, instead of the restoration of the land and means of production
to the people, the criminals might understand it. But a free society of workers
owning land and capital as common property has no attractions for them. It
is too Utopian. These men are aristocrats in a humble way. They prefer liv¬
ing by plunder, with its risks, excitement, and dissipation, to any paradise pic¬
tured by poet or philosopher.

But as the van jogs on its way to Newgate, I think of another incident
in connection with it. One day, as I was riding back from Bow Street to Hol¬
loway, I noticed a number of lads entering the van. They were nice hoys, well
behaved and well dressed. They looked like the sons of respectable tradesmen.
Surely such lads were too young to go to jail. There was an engaging inno¬
cence in their countenances which was quite charming. But going to jail they
were, for all along the road to Fentonville, they kept singing out, “ Cheer up.

It is only three months, it will soon be over.”

Next time I was at Bow Street, I asked a detective who those nice boys
were. He laughed, and said, “ Young pick-pockets.” “ But they are well dressed
“ Yes, but they only operate in the best society.” “ It seems hereditary,” lie ad¬
ded. “ The trade descends from fathor to son.” I was astounded. Youth and
innocence in that line of business.

Ihe face of one of the lads was so child-like and innocent, that I was
forcibly reminded of the words of Flash Toby Crackit, concerning Oliver Twist,

“ What a boy that would be for the old-ladies’ pockets in church.” But are these
lads really responsible for their acts, the sons of thieves, brought up and educa¬
ted under every influence and circumstance that can make them thieves, can
they help being what they are ?• But what of the wise, just, and merciful law,
that can find no remedy for these victims of a corrupt civilization, save senten¬
ces of brutal imprisonment, culminating at last in penal Servitude? Our
] aws and our prisons manufacture criminals. “ Cheer up it will soon be over,”
the mournful cry of these poor lads, is an indictment of the civilization
that makes them criminals, and then tortures them in a “Christian ” jail,
for the crimes of its own creation. But the Black Maria is now amid the ,

12

bustle and roar of the city. We are not far front) Newgate. There is a block
near the Old Bailey. The van is stationary for a few minutes, Outside in the
sunlight there is a street' boy whistling, and tapping the wheels with a cane.
Then we rumble on, the door is thrown open, the steps let down, and in
single file we enter Newgate.

CHAPTER VII.

THE GATES OF HELL

“Give UP ALL HOPE. YE V/UO ENTER HERE.” -NEWGATE IN THE OLDEN

time. “The Iron Cage.”—“The Prison Chaplin.”—The man with
two wives.—A Boy Criminal.—The wild beasts op the slums.—A
u RESPECTABLE ” PRISON ER—Til REE JOLLY PoSTMEN--“A BRICK OP A JlTDCE.

There can be no doubt that there is no prison strikes so much terror, to
the heart of the beginner in crime, as Newgate. Holloway has a certain subur¬
ban charm, it has been a debtor’s prison, and its battlement, and lofty towers,
give it an air of State and respectability. This is even felt in the neighbour¬
hood. As a rule, no one will live close to a prison but the poor and disreputable;
but Holloway is surrounded by suburban villas and pretty'gardens, that give it;:
an air of almost rural charm. But when you enter Newgate, through walls
built of huge masses of stone, you feel indeed, that hope has fled, and you think
of the thousands of ciiminals who have passed through these frowning walls, on
their way to the convict prison or the gallows

The cells in Newgate are extremely dark, especially those upon the
ground floor, they are furnished in the old style, which prevailed before Sir
Bichard Cross introduced his Prisons Bill. There is no plank bed, but a ham¬
mock is shmg from iron rings in the walls. Near the window, stands what
looks like an ancient urn, turned into a wash stand. On top stands a basin and
jug, but lift them up, and take up the lid that forms the top of the urn, and
their arises an evil smell. The ancient urn is a water closet.

Hammocks are very comfortable to those that are used to them. An old
jail bird will curl himself up in one comfortably, and sleep the sleep of the just.
To a beginner it is not so pleasant. He is apt when he lias slung his hammoek,
and rolls into it, to percipitate himself on one side, when over goes the show,”
and he fall bump on the door. This gives a slight shock to his nervous system
and makes him lively. I, however, had slept in a hammock years ago, and I
found it a most comfortable bed, while the plank, even when mitigated by a
mattras stuffed with oakum, is rough and hard.

Newgate is an old prison, the oldest in London. There are parts of it,
including the chapel, that were standing in the days of Jack Sheppard. Bat

13

the portion where we were confined is more modern, and is built in the style
that prevails through all prisons. ; A lofty hall like a cathedral, with airy gal¬
leries running round. Newgate, is only used now, during the sessions, for prison¬
ers who are to he tried at the Old Bailey. I bad, postponed writing my defence,
till I arrived at;Newgate,,but I found it, owing to the darkness of the..cell, a
difficult, job. If T wrote on my table, which was merely a wooden ledge built in
the wall beside the door, T could not see plainly. If the gas jet .oyer the table
was lit, the glare madjp my head ache, but the defence was written .though the
writing was awful, T was informed by a prisoner that the warder was in the
habit of reading my defence every day. when T was out at exercise. I don’t
know how true this is, but if that warder did try to read it, T felt lorry for him.
If it was a duty imposed upon him hv the authorities I fear he did not perform
it properly, for the manuscript was so illigihle T could hardly read it myself.

The prison used to be a very free and easy place in the good old days,
when all the pleasures of life, except liberty, could be bad for a consideration
within its walls. There is still an air of the old reckless profusion about it now.
A prisoners friends will generally manage to provide him with food during the
few days he passes, in Newgate. And as there is meat with most meals, the jail
has the air of a jovial place with a continual feast going on. There is always
a look of dinner time about it. All seem to feel in Newgate that the pleasures
of life are transitory, and therefore they make the best of them the few days
they last. Before the next week there will he a swift deliverance, or oakum,
brown bread, and skilly, will he all that is left to us.

We went to chapel on Sunday, it is an ancient building that reminds one
of the days of Hogarth. There are two cages, one on each side of the building,
into which the prisoners are marched, the gates of the cages are locked, and we
grin, across the intervening space, at each other like wild beasts in a menagerie.
This is a relic of the days when the criminals in Newgate were really “ danger¬
ous,” and sentries. With loaded carbines, were sometimes necessary to keep
them from mutiny.

As I sat in that old chapel and looked across, I thought how many pris¬
oners had sat within those. walls. Yonder,’where that dark, thick-set man is
sitting, with a wlnte neckcloth',; swathed round his neck, Thistlewood and his
companions once sat awaiting trial and execution. What > visions float before
your eyes in this sad place. The ghosts of old murderers, dashing highwaymen
like Turpin and Shepard, Jacobite conspirators, Radical reformers, Botany Bay
convicts. If they could all live again the place would be full of ghosts, and the
living crowded out by the dead. If there is a place that might breed phantoms,
it is Newgate. At night the stillness of the jail is awful. I went to bed early

14

■

after supper, at 5.30 p.m., for writing for an horn- or two in the glare of th
prison gas was enough. And L only had an elementary book on chemist y from
the library to read. A little after eight I would hear the clash of bolts, and
then then the sound of the falling footsteps of an old man, thud, thud, of
heavy stick, and what sounded like the pattering of the feet of a dog. A few
words would be interchanged between him and the warder who had been left on
duty when the others left the jail at six. The young man goes, and the old re¬
mains alone. Then would come a rustling sound, and the creep of stealthy met,
then pit pat, pit pat, came the dog's feet. The rustling noise went on, the feet
ascended the stairs. I could hear them in the gallery overhead, passing from
cell to cell. Then they came down stairs, nearer and nearer. They are coming
to my cell. They halt at the door and I catch a glimpse of a human eye at the

spy hole, the gas goes down.- But the door does not open, and a spectral

visitant from the other world stalk in. It is only the old warder going his round
in list slippers, to see if his “birds” are all right. If any place is haunted New¬
gate ought to be, but it is not, for I saw no ghosts while I was there.

The young warder who looked after me in Newgate was a very pleasant
Mow. He and a venerable old man at Holloway were among the best of their
class. Both were good natured. The young man had a stock joke when he.
came to the cell and presented me with a newspaper. He always said, It am
the ‘ Commonweal.' ” One day it was the “ Commonweal,” but the young man
knew nothing about it. There are many ingenious ways of getting papers into
jails unknown to warders.

The chaplin at Newgate was a mild, apologetic individual, with a min¬
cing voice and style. He came into my cell on the Saturday, as if he was sur-
surprised to find me there. “ I was hot on his list,” he sard No, had no
religion,” I replied, lie did not go into doctrinal points, but gave me a little
information about the procedure at my trial. 1 told him “ I intended to defend
myself “ Well, you will have fair play,” he said, “ the trials were fan a
“ Central Criminal Court. And he had known men who defended themselves
« to get oft. He remembered the case of a man accused of a most shocking
- charge persuading a judge and jury of his innocence. He hoped I wouM be
<• equally fortunate.” And with “ Good day, friend, he left the cell. This was
the last I saw of the chaplin, till the day of my trial, when as I was declaiming
my defence, I saw him in a remote corner of the bench fast asleep, like a little
drowsy Hindoo god. He was more fortunate than I, for I had not succeeded
in sleeping through his sermon on the previous Sunday.

On Monday the Sessions began, and I was warned by friends, that my
case would probably come on on Wednesday. On Wednesday I was taken from

15

my cell aud marched through store yards and corridors to dark passage lit with
flaring gas beneath the Central Criminal Court. Here I was locked up in a cell
perfectly dark, behind an iron grating, with three others. One was a young
Frenchman, a waiter, who had fired a revolver at a companion in a fit of pas¬
sion. While the next, a stout, simple looking man, informed me he was locked
up for “ Killing his kid.” I looked at him in surprise, for a man more unlike
a murderer it would be hard to imagine. Then he told me his story : “ Look
liercf I am a married man, only me and my old woman has no kids. I picks
up with another woman, and we 'as a boy. Well I persuades my old woman to
adopt this blooming kid, but she not know it was mine. One night I comes
’o:ne screwed, falls on the bed where the kid was asleep, and smothers it, and

here I am. Look here, do you think I shall get off? Both my missus and
t’other woman has given me best of characters. T’other one says she does not
know what she would have done without me.”

This delicious story was told with a charming simplicity, as if the narra¬
tor had no idea there was anything “ immoral ” about it. He was a mechanic,
earning good wages, and could afford the luxury of two wives. Why should he
not have them ? He was sorry for the poor little fellow’s death, which was
evidently quite an accident, and so the Judge thought, for he was acquitted
after a brief hearing. The French waiter also got off, the shot from the revolver
had done no harm, and he evidently had no intent to kill.

But there was another with us in the cell, a boy, a mere child, stunted,
almost deformed, with the face of a wicked old man, a face on which a long line
of evil ancestors, bred amid squalor and degradation, had left their mark.
What had this boy done T It was horrible, sickening to think of, he had out¬
raged a young child, little more than a baby, “. His uncle had made him drunk,”
he said, in excuse. Then with that sense of injustice that all criminals feel
when punished for crimes, the result of environment and hereditiry, he began
to exclaim upon the cruelty of his judge and jailors. “ How would they like to
be shut up all alone in a cell by themselves and left to think ? ” he said. This
poor lad seemed to think nothing of the frightful deed he had committed.
When his jailors asked him what he was in for, he laughed and jested, as if it
was a good joke. What shall we say of a civilization that breeds monsters like
these i The thunder of Ravachols dynamite was then ringing through Europe,
as a warning of what is to come from this child, and thousands like him, the
“wild beasts” bred in the slums.

T am alone in the Cell, my companions have gone to the court above to
meet their trial. I gaze through the iron bars upon the gas lit passage, there is
another cage in the opposite wall, in it there is a man, alone. His eyes and

part of his face are bound up in a black silk handkerchief. He is well dressed,
but there is something horrible in the bestial mouth and the brutal chin. He
is talking to a warder who treats him with great deference and calls him “ Sir.”- ,

The boy comes back again led by two warders, one of them is about to
unlock the grate of the opposite cell. When the other touches him on the arm
“ Stop for God’s sake” he cries. “ Don’t lock the boy in with him.”

Who was this man of good society, whose presence was contamination to
this child of the slums, bred in evil from birth ? Wild stories of vices, that
brought fire from heaven on older civilizations, when the poor starve in abject
penury, while the rich spent their illgotten wealth, wrung from their misery jn

crimes at. which the world still shudders.rise before my mind. The air is hot

and feotid. I can feel the breath of the volcano, this is not a prison, this
strange underworld, it is the gate of hell. Hare while the revellers dance over
our head, the storm is gathering underground, that shall wreck all. The old
world needs a destroyer, and its end is near.

The rustle of women’s skirts, a wardress passes with a woman prisoner 1 .
The boy arrives back again. “ A dozen strokes with the birch. Will it hurt
much ?” he cries, and laughs in the warders face. “ You’ll see ” says that
official grimly.

Loud laughter, three young postmen with a warder. “ Well I call that
a brick of a judge,” says one. “Just fancy only three months.” The warder
unlocks my grate “ Come on ” he says “ back to your cell. Your case is post¬
poned till Friday.” “Just think,” exclaimed another, “the judge said
our character was so good that lie would not give us more. It is
prime I Call it.” Yes, “ I thought I should have got more over them postal
orders,” stud another. “ Now boys ” said the warder, who was also in a high
good humour. “Do you know where you are? This is the place where we
bury the people that are hung. Do you see that P., that is where Mrs. Pearcy
lies. See F.L. that’s the Flowery Land Pirates.” We were in the Golgotha of
Newgate, a narrow passage, between two high walls of massive stone covered
with initials of the dead.

The noisy talk ceases for a moment, and then goes on again. As the
door of my cell clashes behind, I hear still the voice of the young postmen—
“Just fancy J Why, I could do it on my head, Only three months. Why, I
“ shall be out again next August Bank Holiday. Why, he is a brick of a judge,
“ That is what I call him.”

CHAPTER VIIL

At the CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT.

A State Trial -A Learned Judge—Police Perjury—Lye r no, a cine Art
—The Truth made manifest— The Attorney General upset—
Whipped Curs—An American Story—Eighteen Months Hard
Labour ”

It is Friday, May 6th, and I stand side by side with Mowbray in the dock
at the Old Bailey. T was not aware till to day I was such an important person,
but I am to have a State Trial. The Attorney General conducts the prosecution
and the Lord Chief Justice, the foremost lawyer in England, presides over the
proceedings. Lord Coleridge is a little harmless looking old man, rather femin¬
ine in appearance, but with a silvery voice, and most polite in his manner. I he
Attorney General strives to give one the impression that he does not like his
job, and would rather not have it, but only a strong senses of public duty., etc.
Tie is very careful though to give every point that will tell against ns with the
jury. . .

The Lord Chief Justice balls me “ Air. Nicoll,” and talks across the court,
as if he was speaking to me at' his own dinner table. He is quite kind and
fatherly in his manner, lie commends us for the way in which we have defend¬
ed ourselves, and does his best to give one the impression that we shall be dis¬
missed with a caution. Pome lawyers are like cats that caress mice with their
velvet paws before using teeth and talons. But cats are not the friends of mice
for all that. * ■ •

The jury are a set of stolid British block heads, tradesmen to a man, a
common sort of jury, with a fixed idea that Socialists and Anarchists are a set
of thieves, who want to get at their tills. “ And that soft of thing must be put
“ down Sir. Don’t we pay rates and taxes for judges, policemen, and jailors, to
“ put it down. Find ’em guiltv ? I should think so: I would hang ’em every
“ One sir, if I had my way.” That’s the kind of jury.

Still these men have their domestic affections, and it was their feeling,
that it was not quite right to rob motherless children of their father that Mow¬
bray’s acquittal was due. No thanks to Lord Chef Justice, whose “ leniency ”
was praised bv some of the press, who did his best to persuade them to bring
Mowbray in “ guilty,” because violent articles had appeared in the “ Common¬
weal” before tlie famous one. and therefore. Mowbray must have known the
character of the paper. I did not think much of Coleridge’s “ leniency.” I
am sure we should have been'no worse off with Edlin or Grantham, whose bark
is worse than their bite. But Coleridge was a Liberal. The Government
showed good sense in selecting him, the Radical press could not attack him.
they were bound bv party ties to speak in praise of him, yet the Government
knew I was sure of a heavy sentence, for Coleridge was the judge, who had
passed a brutal sentence upon ATost, for rejoicing in the death of a crowned
tyrant.

The proceedings were rather dull, till the arrival of the police witnesses,
who swore to the “ incitement to murder ” in Hyde Park. Sweeney started
swearing his way through a brick wall, by stating he was in Hyde Park, among
the crowd, when he heard me make the following statement: “ Four men are
responsible for the conviction of our comrades. Hangman Hawkins, the Jesuiti¬
cal Home Secretary Matthews, thn Spy Melville, and ‘Gordon. Within a week
1 wo of them must die. What must our comrades feel when they meet Butcher
Hawkins, or Hangman Hawkins, as he is better known, walking about in the
streets.” I cross-examined these two unimpeachable witnesses, Sweeney and

P'jfV. . ■ ' ■ : 18 ' 'v

I oweli. Although both swore positively that these were tlie very words used,
yet it turned out that neither could write shorthand, and that Sweeney had
niade a note half an hour after the speech was delivered, and Powell an hour
afterwards. Yet these versions of the speech agreed exactly word for word:
it was wonderful! “ You will swear those were exact words I used,” I said to
the virtuous Powell. “ 0 yes, I’ll swear it,” he said cheerfully. But you and
your friends version of my speech agree word for word, I suppose you have not
talked your evidence over together?”,Oh no,” with an air of indignation at
being asked such a question.

. £ ’ Why did you not make a uote of the speech at once, instead of delay¬

ing for an hour ? ’ “I thought I should be in danger from the crowd.”

- Considering the crowd was largely composed Of Sweeney’s comrades, I
tail to see where the danger came in. But another aspect was put on the case
when Mr. Joseph Burgess, editor of the “ Workman's Times,” with several
mends present at the meeting, and two reporters, stepped into the box, and
S l'I° re iP osl L ve ty, that the words that the police had swore to had never been
uttered.

mi a !! We m )! st have these witn esses back again,” said Lord Chief Justice,
i ne Attorney General was taken by surprise, he had evidently not expected this
though if he had been a reader of the democratic press, he might have seen a
J® ter m the “Daily Chronicle,” signed by Joseph Burgess, Dr. Watt of Hoving-
ham, and Messrs. Holding and Kurypers, stating that I had not incited to the
murder of Hawkins & Co. in the Park The Attorney General complained
tins evidence had been sprung upon him without notice. The witnesses were
recalled, and a nice mess they made of it. The Attorney General obtained per¬
mission to ask them whether I had not delivered two speeches, they replied
les. Coleridge then wanted to know how it was, that up till now they had
only mentioned one speech. “ I delivered two,” said Sweeney, “and thesecond
was a repitition of the first.” It further appeared the two speeches were deli-
veied an hour apart, and. the notes were taken half an hour after the last
one. why did you,” said Lord Chief Justice, ‘“say I heard him make a
speech and took a note of it?” My Lord, I took a general note,” said the
unhappy Sweeney, who looked as jolly as a cat on hot bricks. “A general
note, said Coleridge sternly, “you had better stand down.”

Powell was worse than Sweeney. Be took his note an hour after the
last speech was delivered, and therefore two hours after the first one. Pow¬
ell, however, enabled me to ascertain an hitherto unknown fact in natural
I 1 history, a dectective can blush, his face was as red as fire as he stood in

the witness box, and he stammered and hesitated like a child detected in
some petty theft. He had also only mentioned one speech being delivered
and now there were two. “ What do you mean by this,” said the Judge.

1 mean in the sense, my Lord,” said Powell. “The sense,” said the
Judge. My Lord, said I, “this is clearly a case of perjury on the part
ot the police, a deliberate attempt to improve upon the evidence.”

t he two detectives then slunk out of court, like a couple of whipped
cm’s. Mr. Burgess and his friends had only heard the first speech, but Mr.
Arthur b ox, a member of the Shop Assistants’ Union, had heard both
speeches and he proved that that the second speech was merely an appeal
for a collection for the wives of the imprisoned men, and the announcement
of literature for sale. Fox happened to mention that he bad heard me speak
■ you have heard him speak before,” said the Attorney General.
What are you, Mr. Fox?” I am a shop assistant, sir,” said Fox. “Oh,
and where have you heard him speak?” „ At Shop Assistants’ meetings.”
said box. “Shop Assistants’ meetings, eh ?” said the Judge, “there is not
much iii that. There was though, for Hailes’ manager, and an Inspector

1

19

of Police, who wero in comt to prove that I “intimidated” Mr. Ilaile, a respect¬
able tradesman in the Hawson-rd, by recommending the public not to shop with
him, because he would not close at five on Thursdays, were hastily withdrawn.
This evidence might have induced the Judge to take a lenient view of the case.

After the break down of the. police ’ 'evidep|p,. I delivered my
speech—which may be read in “ Anarchy at the Bar,” so I will only quote one
passage here. “ The sight of those wretched lads in prison,'condemned to
dime from early hovhood, bad srirml France Un lights will,in mo, and 1 spoke
out to the respectable audience, who listened ,as if I were some strange monster
iipbeaved from depths below. The police and the prosecution hint that we
a,re dangerous conspirators;. Where is theii evidence? They have none!
They have.not,produced a scrap of evidence. But we have used,strong lan¬
guage ! But, anyone who has seen as much of the poverty and misery of the
poor of the East End as we have, and would not use strong language, would be
absolutely heartless.

“ You talk of morality, virtue, and religion. What do these mean to
thousands of families, who bv toiling from week to week. can.only make a mis¬
erable wage, barely sufficient.for existence ? What do these mean, to these,
who can only afford to -live, father, riiother, and children, seven or eight persons
in one wretched place where you would not put your horses, your, dogs, or
even your swine / Do you wonder if children, brought up under these terrible
“ conditions go to the bad- the boys become petty thieves, and the girls drift
. “ upon the streets? And then what remedy can your society find for the crimes.^,
of its own creation l It can send its victims to prison.” . _

“ Ravachol ? Why your civilization that drives the poor into.misery
“ and degradation, that drives women to prostitution, and men to crime, by
“enslaving and sweating them, to pile up wealth for the rich—is breeding
Havachols by thousands ! Breeding them in its fever dens, breeding them in
“ its slums, where good dies, and where, only vice arid crime can flourish. Kava-
“ chol ! Your civilization is only fit for Ravachol. And to Ravachol we leave 1
“it. Let the monsters you have created devour you !

The jury did not like this speech. And when Mowbray’s Counsel
Mr. Grain, ’said something about its “eloquence.” They shook their heads
with meaning. The judge summed up ? and the jury found me guilty, not only
for the article, but also for the speech in Hyde Park ! And this, despite the
fact that Coleridge told them “ it was very doubtful if I had_ used' the violent ,
language attributed to me by the police.” Mowbray was acquitted. . •

It was during tlie last few weeks of my stay in Chelmsford Jail when the
Chief Warder entered ray cell. He looked at the card on which my “crime”
was recorded. It had been written in lead pencil, not ink, and bad been rubbed
out, so it appeared that I was in prison for nothing at all. “ W hat are you here
for” said the chief ? “ Incitement to murder,” was my reply. “.No wthat’s a
nice thing, isn’t it ? Haven’t other people as much light to their lives as you
have?” “The question is, if it was incitement to murder,” was my answer.

“ You had a jury, hadn’t you V said the Chief Warder. “ 0 yes I had a jury.”
The Chief Warder did not understand saveasin. He uttered a grunt, and walk¬
ed out. _ .

Loid Coleridge was kind, very kind. He put me in mind of a judge I
heard of once in America. A little boy stood before him. convicted of stealing
apples. The judge looked at him through his spectacles, benevolently, and
begun- “ My poor boy.” “ lie’s only going tq give us six weeks,” said .tlie cul¬
prit.” “ I fed very sorry for you ” Lts only a month this time,” said the lad.
•‘When 1 think ‘of the grief you have brought upon a once happy home, . the
sorrow of your father, the tear’s of yoitf mother, and the sobs of your little
brothers and sisters.” , “ He is going to let us off altogether,” said the boy.

W